“Unwilling, no—unable, often,” said Saunders, smiling. “But today I made myself available. And this must be your young gentleman, Mr. Collins.”
William stepped forward at once, bowing with respectful precision.
“Sir,” said Saunders, regarding him closely, not unkindly, but with the practiced eye of one accustomed to discerning capacity beneath manner, “you are very welcome here. Mr. Bennet has spoken of you with moderation—which, from him, is praise of the highest order.”
The young man colored faintly, but answered steadily. “I am obliged to you, sir.”
Mr. Saunders turned then to the parcel of books Mr. Bennet took from William and had placed upon the table—some bound in worn calf, others plainly but carefully kept—and his satisfaction was immediate.
“You have brought them!” he said, with genuine pleasure. “I scarcely hoped you would part with these so readily.”
“Some are a gift,” Mr. Bennet replied, “others a temporary sacrifice to necessity. You insisted upon honesty in all things; I have therefore allowed you to pay for what you must, that the young man may begin with fewer encumbrances.”
Professor Saunders nodded gravely. “A sensible arrangement—and one that will serve him better than indulgence disguised as generosity.”
Their lodgings, though modest, were clean, well ordered, and sufficiently near the Hall to spare unnecessary fatigue. Mr. Bennet received the guest room and William, upon being shown his small chamber—with its narrow bed, plain desk, anda window looking out upon a quiet court—received it with a gravity that might have bordered on reverence, had it not been so entirely free of affectation.
“It is more than I expected,” the young man said simply.
“That,” Mr. Saunders replied, “is the correct spirit with which to begin.”
That evening, Mr. Bennet composed the letter which was to precede all further consideration, writing with the careful exactness which he reserved for matters of consequence:
“I beg leave to recommend to your favorable consideration a young man of good character and promising abilities, whose circumstances have hitherto limited his opportunities rather than his disposition for improvement. His preparation has been steady, his conduct irreproachable, and his ambition such as may be safely encouraged…”
The letter made no extravagant claims; it offered no guarantees beyond those which Mr. Bennet was prepared to honor himself. It spoke of diligence rather than brilliance, of perseverance rather than distinction, and concluded with a quiet assurance that the means for a modest education were secured, provided the young man were found worthy of them.
Saunders read it the next morning and returned it with a nod of approval. “This,” he said, “will admit him to consideration. Without such a letter, he would scarcely be heard. With it, he will at least be examined fairly—which is all one may reasonably desire.”
***
Three days after their arrival in Oxford, the examination itself commenced without ceremony and was conducted over the following two days by a tutor of the Hall and a fellow whose manner was exacting but not severe. William Collins translated from Latin into English, and back again; he parsed, declined, corrected, and reasoned, his hand steady though not elegant, his answers cautious but sound. Yet beneath the calm exterior he presented, a quiet tremor of hope stirred—hope tempered by the fear that all his solitary hours of study might yet prove insufficient. His Greek, though less confident, betrayed real application; his grammar, while slightly imperfect, showed the marks of patient labor.
“He is no prodigy,” the tutor observed afterward, at the express request of Professor Saunders, “but he is teachable. This candidate listens, thinks, and shows a will for improvement.”
Professor Saunders smiled faintly at this. “That,” he said, “is the foundation upon which colleges are built, my esteemed colleague.”
When at last the matter was concluded, and Mr. Bennet and his cousin William were informed that the young man was accepted with a view to presenting him for matriculation at Michaelmas, the news was received with quiet composure by both. William Collins bowed, thanked Professor Saunders and Mr. Bennet with unrestrained sincerity, his voice softened by genuine feeling, and spoke no further; but when later he found himself alone for a moment, his hand rested upon the worn desk in his chamber with a firmness that spoke of a resolution newly fixed—and of a heart deeply grateful for the chance to prove himself worthy.
Mr. Bennet observed him then, and thought—not without a private sense of satisfaction—that Oxford had not overawed theboy, nor had the boy presumed upon Oxford; and that between those two facts lay the best possible promise of success. He felt, too, a quiet pleasure in having guided his young relation thus far, a pleasure he would not confess aloud, yet which warmed him on the journey home.
Upon concluding the examination, the little party returned to Professor Saunders’ comfortable lodgings nearby, where the household received the tidings with restrained but genuine delight. Mrs. Wells, the professor’s excellent cook, in honor of the young man’s success, had prepared her celebrated prune pudding—a rich, comforting dish redolent of cinnamon and cloves—which drew delighted exclamations from Mr. Bennet and earnest compliments from all.
After the covers were removed, the gentlemen—Professor Saunders, Mr. Bennet, William, and Mr. Edmunds, the professor’s reliable man for any occasion—withdrew to a quiet game of whist in the parlor, the cards falling softly amid gentle conversation and occasional dry observations from Mr. Bennet, while the fire crackled cheerfully and the air filled with the easy contentment of minds relieved and hopes confirmed.
***
The next day, Mr. Bennet and his young cousin reached Longbourn again toward the close of a mild afternoon, their journey from Oxford having been accomplished without mishap, and their spirits were rather disposed to quiet reflection than to triumph. The verdict they carried with them—favorable, though cautiously framed—was of a nature to satisfy the reasonable without inflaming the vain; and Mr. Bennet, who had long distrusted enthusiasm unsupported by judgment, regarded it as precisely the encouragement a young man ought to receive.
Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Lydia, and Kitty were all within doors when the carriage was announced, and the news of their return spread through the house with such speed that by the time Mr. Bennet had entered the sitting-room, he found himself immediately surrounded by expectation in several forms.
“Well!” cried Mrs. Bennet, before he could seat himself, “and how does the world of learning receive my nephew? I protest I have hardly slept these last nights for thinking of examinations and Latin, that chirpy Greek, and all manner of dreadful questions. Pray, tell us everything at once.”
Mr. Bennet smiled faintly. “If I were to do so, my dear, I should deprive myself of the pleasure of telling it twice. Suffice it to say for the moment that Mr. Collins was received with civility, examined with care, and dismissed with encouragement.”
Mary clasped her hands. “Encouragement,” she repeated solemnly. “That is a blessing, when properly improved.”
Lydia clapped her hands outright. “Does that mean he is to be a clergyman? Oh, Kitty, we shall have sermons at home!”
